Superbia
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: **Birthday fic for Squalo!** To be proud of oneself is to be proud of one's accomplishments, and Superbi Squalo believes that he has earned the right to be proud of himself...and his boss. ONESHOT; Rated for Language


**A/N:** Birthday fic for our one and only lovable trashy shark, Superbi Squalo. Technically one day late over here, but Squ appreciates it. Or at least I think he does.

Warning: This has not been proofread. There _will _be tense mistakes. There will be canon timeline mistakes, but who cares? And the ending was thought up on the spot, but I'm quite happy with it. (not)

Disclaimer: If I owned Reborn, would I come up with this trashy stuff? xD

* * *

Superbi Squalo knew that pride was a sin.

He knew it whenever he drew his sword, whenever he screamed loud enough to deafen, whenever he licked the blood off as his opponent fell screaming to the ground.

But like he cared about sins.

For longer than he could remember, he had always been confident about his ability. He had always considered himself strong, unbeatable, invincible, and the best. First it was sparring opponents who gasped as a dull wooden sword made contact with their skin. Next, it was the pathetic seniors who dared to invade his territory. And then he was out for himself, alone in the world, cutting down opponents barely as he met them.

And each time they fell to his sword, the deadly grin would resurface, and he would hold his head up high and scream, proclaiming them all weak. There was not one person he couldn't face, and there was not one person who survived to tell the tale.

Or at least, Squalo would boastfully claim that.

But of course there _had_ been someone who had survived. More than one, actually. More than two, even.

"VOOOIIIIII, YOU'RE ALL WEAK!" he had screamed, on that cloudless day, after he had mercilessly and simultaneously pounding five swordsmen into the dirt. The crowd had thinned until there was nobody around to even see the birds fly, started, out of the trees.

He had already started to walk away, not even having bothered to sheath his sword, when he caught the first hint of a malicious aura. "VOOOIIIIII!" he had screamed, spinning around to face the opponent who had stayed in the shadows, carefully analysing. This wasn't the type of opponent he wanted to face.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Squalo had screamed, unsheathing his sword and preparing for a challenge. But then, as quickly as it had come, the aura disappeared.

"VOOOOOOIIIIIIIII!"

But there was nothing to scream at but a blank wall.

* * *

It would be months before that incident would come into mind again. By then, Squalo would have defeated several more swordsmen and would have mastered dozens of more styles. The menacing atmosphere had slipped out of his mind like rain dropping from the sky.

The next time he would feel that aura was two months later, in the middle of the night in a back alley which refused to sell him drugs because apparently, they'd run out of stock. He was about to rage and slice them all apart for telling such an obvious lie, when a taller man pushed aside and settled furious red eyes on the dealer.

"VOOOI, WHAT THE –" Squalo started, but then cut himself off. There was something different about this man. Instinct which had kept him alive in thousands of battles was alive in him again. This guy was dangerous.

Squalo eyed the packet of drugs in the other's hand. "Vooii," he began, eyes glinting, "I'll fight you for that!"

But the other completely ignored him, and turned to walk away.

"VOOIIII!" he yelled again, drawing a massive broadsword. It was not uncommon to have weapons at this place and time. Many of the people here had mafia connections, after all. "Are you fucking deaf?"

The man stopped, and he tilted his head a fraction, just so Squalo could see those red eyes narrow. "Shut it, trash."

That was it.

Squalo may be a man of incredible tolerance, but his pride would not allow him to stand by while another insults him. He took one step forward, swinging the broadsword with one hand as if it weighed nothing at the taller man. At the very last second, he flicked his wrist, sending the sword spinning and slicing in the other direction.

The man ducked, shifting his weight closer to the ground, and then pushed back on his heels, sliding into a firm stance before firing twice with a gun that Squalo hadn't seen him draw. His reflexes were fast, almost too fast.

"Voooiii! Not bad!" he said, genuinely impressed as the shots flew past him. "Maybe I can cut off your head and take it as a souvenir when I'm done!"

"Hn."

Squalo charged again, and instead of dodging, the man raised both his guns and stood there in a firm stance. A yellow glow began to form, and as the silver haired man's eyes widened, a huge ball of flame strong enough to destroy a building came shooting out of the gun. He could feel the heat, and death was seconds away.

_I'm not gonna make it..._

Deciding in a fraction of a second, Squalo pushed off his feet and dived towards the side, the massive broadsword slipping from his grasp and being swallowed up by the burst of flame a millisecond later.

He rolled to break the fall and kneeled there, gasping for breath with his eyes stinging. Looking back, the brick wall behind him had a giant gaping smoking hole. If he had hesitated for another split second, he would have been gone completely. That was too close... In his whole entire life, he had never... What _was_ that thing?

There were so many questions he could ask, and he chose one.

"VOOOIIII, YOU JUST BROKE MY FUCKING SWORD!"

The man's eyes narrowed. "It got _incinerated_, trash."

Hearing the tone, instead of being livid like he usually would be, Squalo merely smirked. "Voooi, I'll follow you!" he said, in a voice which would suggest no argument.

"No."

The response was immediate.

"Why not?"

"I don't want a fucking weakling stalking me."

"VOOI, I'M NOT WEAK!"

After pronouncing so many people weak, and crushing so many styles, that pronouncement made Squalo spring up from his position. "What the fuck was that, anyway?" he continued, looking positively furious. "If you fought me fairly without using magic, or whatever that was, I would've won! Who the fuck are you, anyway?"

"That wasn't magic, scum! And I'm the next leader of the Vongola!"

And as the man vanished, Squalo only had one thought in mind. Who in the name of swordsmanship would want to be the boss of a clam?

* * *

His eyes scanned the page, passing over several spelling errors and scribbles, and stared at the signature at the bottom. His brain had positively stopped, his hands trembling as they clutched the piece of paper. He read it again three times to make sure his eyes were right.

"Vooiii..." A low growl emitted from his throat. A sharp grin appeared on his face, and his eyes were alight with flames. "So to become the fucking boss of the Varia, I just have to defeat Tyr? Just the chance I was waiting for! This is too easy!"

And ripping the letter into shreds, he stormed upstairs to get changed.

Although the rest of the letter was ripped up beyond recognition, there was one piece which was left relatively untouched. In an untidy scrawl underneath the equally unreadable letter was the only word which was still intact.

_XANXUS_.

* * *

His breath came in short gasps, the pain in his left arm was almost unbearable, his sword lay a few feet from him. His shirt was soaked with a mixture of sweat and blood, droplets having landed on his cheek. Bleeding from at least five places, including his mouth, he slowly raised himself to his feet, trembling and staggering and almost falling over twice.

"Vooiii..." he paused, as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He hadn't eaten for five days, and hadn't let go of his sword for two weeks. But all he could feel was excitement coursing through him. "VOOIIII, I...I'm the fucking leader of the Varia!"

And then he collapsed.

* * *

The room came into focus around him. It was completely white, for a start, coupled with a white bed with white sheets, a painted white wall and a white door. "Vooiii." Groggily getting to his feet, Squalo looked down at what remained of his left hand, draped over with a cloth which, like the rest of the room, was white. His hand had been completely severed during his fight with Tyr, but not that he cared. "VOOIIII!" he screamed hoarsely, most likely shaking the entire castle, "WHY ISN'T ANYONE KNEELING AT MY FEET?"

He heard the creak of a door and turned around with difficulty, only to find nobody there. Rolling his eyes, Squalo was about to yell again when a quiet voice said, "Down here."

Following the voice, he looked down, ignoring the pain in his neck, to see a tiny baby in a cloak, with a hood hiding his eyes and a frog on top of his head.

"Voooiiii, who the hell are you?" he snapped, not liking the way his voice cracked from lack of water.

The baby ignored him, and took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Unfolding it several times, he read out, "Superbi Squalo, the Second Sword Emperor and Varia Lieutenant, formerly a rogue Mafioso, graduated from the Mafia Academy. Preferred weapon is a sword. Am I correct?"

Squalo twitched. "FUCK NO!" he screamed. "I'm the fucking _Varia boss,_ stupid baby!"

"Incorrect," he replied in a voice which implied 'I couldn't care less.' "According to the laws of the Mafia, any Boss who is defeated by another shall yield his position to the other. You were defeated, if I'm not mistaken, by our current boss and former Lieutenant, Xanxus. Therefore, the position of Boss rightly belongs to him."

Squalo swore. Several times. Very loudly.

"I'M THE FUCKING BOSS, DAMMIT!" he yelled, and, ignoring the pain in his arm and the cuts which reopened, he stood up and aimed a ferocious kick at the baby. Instead of connecting, however, his foot went right through and the baby evaporated into mist.

"Our boss expects you, Squalo," the voice echoed.

He swore again.

* * *

"Voooi, the hell do you want, shitty boss?"

Squalo certainly did not appreciate being called here like this. After a battle lasting for two weeks, and only three days rest, and the position of Boss out of his reach, he was expected to go on a freaking mission.

"Shut up, trash. It's a simple mission, do you want it or not?"

He growled under his breath. It's not like there was a choice anyway. "I told you I'd follow you," he said smugly. "Vooi, I always knew it! Hey, Xanxus, I'll grow out my hair for you!"

Now Xanxus did look surprised with that statement for a moment, before his eyes narrowed in anger. "Don't fuck with me, trash."

"I'm friggin' serious! I won't cut my hair until you become the fucking clam's boss, happy?"

"...Vongola..." The word was laced with venom.

Squalo cursed. "Vongola, then, happy!"

"You'll look like a fucking girl," Xanxus commented dryly.

"Vooi, why do you care? It's the only promise I can keep anyway. It's not like I'm going to stop cutting my nails."

Squalo found himself the victim of a death glare.

"Tch. Do whatever you want."

* * *

Years later, Squalo would reflect that joining the Varia was probably the best thing he had ever done. Because on March 13th, when Xanxus was drunk in the corner and he and Bel were having a food fight, while Mammon secretly counts money in the other corner, and Lussuria's sprinkling chocolates around like a stupid fairy, and Levi is trying to force the boss away from more alcohol, that this is the best life he could ever want.

And who cares about being the Varia boss, anyway?

He was already proud to serve under Xanxus's fiery rage.


End file.
